With two weeks to go in the moving plan, I have reached a strange impasse. On the one hand, I have to get the rest of my material goods into boxes. On the other, I still need to eat, sleep, dress and have a live that does not resemble a homeless person’s for the next fortnight.

Follow up:

Every item I pack now must be weighed in a “yes or no” process to decide if I am going to need it again in the next two weeks or if I can make do without it. In my more lucid moments (these usually occur right after drinking my morning coffee) this is not too much of a challenge. But when dealing with the distractions of work, deadlines, and all the other shiny things reality likes to throw at me, a few things got, well… missed. That is to say, I may have packed every item of food I owned, including the things I will most definitely need in the next two weeks; like cereal, and spoons. I am definitely starting to lose my last few threads of sanity.

One of the first casualties of this war has been my will power. For the first time in many months a loaf of sourdough bread has appeared in my house, and then disappeared far faster than one person should have ever been able to eat bread. Cupcakes and cookies call my name when I walk through the aisles of the grocery store, and their sweet siren song will soon be my undoing. “I will not give in!” I tell myself as I rally and remove my hand from the box of Ding Dongs I have reached out for without realizing it. “I will not let the twin demons of sugar and carbs back into this hallowed temple of health!”

Years of eating to soothe away my stress are telling me that everything can be cured with just a pint of chocolate Hagen Das ice cream and maybe a couple of chocolate chip cookies, ooh and some salt and vinegar chips…just in case.

Today I’m safe, my lunch is in the office fridge and dinner is waiting for me at home. But tomorrow I have to get to the grocery store for a few things. And I know the snacks will be waiting for me, calling my name.